Oblivious
by dysprositos
Summary: Tony didn't notice his relationship with Pepper crumbling until he was standing in its dust. Bruce wondered what the world had come to, that he was giving Tony Stark advice on women.


Warnings: language, mostly.

As always, I must thank my beta, irite, for being awesome and helpful and for putting up with my neurosis.

I do not own The Avengers.

* * *

Tony didn't notice his relationship with Pepper crumbling until he was standing in its dust.

In his defense (and it was a pathetic, weak defense, but he couldn't help but try and justify himself), he'd been distracted.

And not just a little distracted. Majorly distracted. To the point that he'd completely forgotten what normal life was like. For the last year, his life had turned into a complete shit show, with one disaster piling on top of another. A stunning series of failures and mishaps in the field over the last twelve months had civilians dropping dead left and right and most of the Avengers in and out of the hospital for a year straight.

First had been Barton, crushed after a terrorist had decided to throw a grenade, taking out half a building and eleven bystanders. The archer had been laid up with not one, but two broken clavicles and an impressive injury to his spleen, for six weeks. Romanoff had been next, nearly losing her leg after Thor had fucking _dropped her _and Tony had fucking _missed catching her_. Thor's bad luck continued when it became apparent that he lacked immunity to at least a couple of Earth's diseases. He had nearly died of meningitis before someone had put two and two together. Even Steve wasn't safe from the sudden onset of bad luck—despite his enhanced healing, even he found it hard to recover from being shot sixteen times in less than two minutes by a group of maniacs with machine guns (who had been firing into a crowded subway station, and boy did _that _go badly).

As for Tony, he had recently taken a particularly bad blow to the head when he'd had his helmet off, and he'd learned exactly how much having a fractured skull fucking _hurt_. He'd been out of commission for three weeks already, out of the hospital for one, and wasn't scheduled to be back in the field for another five months _at least_.

Bruce, at least, had managed to avoid both grievous illness and injury.

So, in between dealing with his own cracked head, and trying to figure out how to immunize a god, and learning to be patient with an archer who couldn't use his arms for a month and a half, and an assassin in a wheelchair, and a supersoldier who insisted that having sixteen holes in his body "doesn't hurt that much, really," and trying to find a way to put a positive spin on the stories that yet another dozen, or twenty, or however many people had died in an attack before the Avengers could mitigate the situation, Tony found himself exhausted and overwhelmed and really, really distracted.

For a year.

Pepper was good about it, she really was. She understood what it was like to be swamped with work, after all.

The disasters kept coming, though, and as days stretched into weeks and months, Tony couldn't find the time for even a phone call. Or the motivation for one, apparently. It didn't occur to him that this was a problem. After all, he loved Pepper, and Pepper loved him, and that sort of thing transcended phone calls. And dates. And sleeping in the same bed. And only seeing each other twice a week.

As it turns out, though, no one likes being neglected, and no one likes being alone (especially when they're supposed to be in love). It was understandable that Pepper began to fill the gap in her life with other things.

Other people.

Eventually, other men. Apparently.

What _wasn't _understandable was that Tony hadn't noticed, had labored on under the delusion that everything was going _fine_, even as the distance between them grew.

Tony wasn't _exactly_ sure how long his relationship had been over by the time he noticed that it was. He thought that maybe that was the worst part, that he had just fucking quit on Pepper and didn't even have the decency to make a note of _when_ he'd clocked out, had just expected her to keep _being _there, to keep working to save what they had going between them, even when he wasn't.

He was an asshole, without a doubt, and that truth was only made more evident by his weak attempts at excuses. There was _no _excuse for being that...oblivious.

Tony thought that there might have been a point where he could have fixed his relationship, but he also thought that point had long since passed. It had probably passed even _before_ Pepper had started going on dates with other men and Tony _hadn't even noticed_, although that definitely seemed like a pretty good boundary for 'this relationship is completely fucked.'

_Really_? he thought, checking his phone and seeing that he really hadn't placed an outgoing call to Pepper in six weeks. _That's nice, Stark. Really great attempt at keeping in touch._ _Couldn't even call to tell her you were hurt? Bet she _really _liked hearing that on the news._

In actuality, 'hurt' was a bit of an understatement. 'Nearly killed again' would have been more apt, but Tony was always one for understatement, at least when it came to his own health issues. He was an ostentatious fuckwad the rest of the time, to be honest, but he was really good at resolutely ignoring threats to his own well-being.

Which explained his current plan.

Tony didn't like being unable to fix something; he didn't like feeling helpless. And between the situation with Pepper and the god-awful year he'd been wading through, that feeling was about all he had. Trapped between the part of him that could not accept defeat and the rock-solid truth that all of this _could not _be fixed, Tony decided there was really only one thing he could do.

It was time to get drunk.

Fuck, it had been time to get drunk for _months_, what had he been waiting for?

Vaguely, Tony thought something about making an attempt to turn over a new leaf, to be a mature, responsible adult. Well, that was a terrible plan. Look how well it had worked out. That plan could, unequivocally, fuck right off.

Something else niggled at the back of his mind (_You really shouldn't do this, it's only been—)_, but he dismissed it abruptly. This needed to happen.

Tony decided later, using his third beer as a chaser for tequila shots, that this was definitely the best possible course of action he could have taken. Maybe it didn't actually _fix_ anything, but he was _feeling _a lot better about the fact he was a giant, fuck-up, asshole douchebag of a boyfriend.

A couple hours later, as he was sucking straight whiskey from an Avengers sippy cup, and crooning his way through some pretty intense AC/DC karaoke, Tony decided that he should probably do this all the time. Now, he was hardly thinking about the fact that he was a giant, fuck-up, asshole douchebag boyfriend at _all_.

More time passed, blurring into something viscous and intangible. Tony wasn't sure exactly _when _his singing had turned to crying, or really _why_, but he was pretty far into a full-on meltdown when the door to his lab slid unexpectedly open.

Tony spun around in his chair to face the door and immediately regretted it, as the world kept spinning long after his chair had stopped.

The regret was short lived, though (as most emotions tend to be at that level of intoxication), and he quickly forgot about it, instead slurring into his chest, "I locked that door. JARVIS! I LOCKED THAT DOOR!"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I overrode that command. Per order 8809A, when you are in immediate danger of bodily harm I am authorized to act in your best interests."

"'M not'n danger, JARVIS, don't be stupid."

"Your blood alcohol content is approaching .31, sir. Deaths have been reported with blood alcohol contents of .30. By my calculations, it is a miracle that you are conscious."

Tony thought his AI was full of shit. But he'd programmed it. Did that mean he was he full of shit?

Well, he knew _that _was true. It was just tragic that he had passed that character flaw on to JARVIS. He thought he ought to express his regrets. "I'm sorry that you're full of shit, JARVIS."

JARVIS, perhaps wisely, did not reply. Instead, a quiet cough caught Tony's attention, and he laboriously lifted his head and tried to focus his red-rimmed eyes on whoever had come down to bother him.

It was hard to tell, but from the general proportions and almost suffocating sense of awkwardness emanating from his visitor, Tony figured it was Bruce.

Well, at least it wasn't Steve. Fucking boy scout was hard enough to stomach sober. All that goody-goody shit was nauseating.

"What d'you want?" Tony mumbled, closing his eyes and letting his head loll back on his neck.

"Um. JARVIS said you were in imminent danger of death, or something," Bruce said, sounding like he'd rather be doing anything else than having this conversation, but was too nice to leave now that he'd shown up and started talking.

"He _lied_. 'M'fine. Go 'way." Tony blindly felt around on the desk and picked up his whiskey sippy cup. He took a long drink.

Bruce snorted. "Yeah, I can tell you're fine. You look fine. Are you _crying_?"

"...No." Tony wiped vaguely at his face, wondering why it was so wet.

Taking advantage of Tony's distraction, Bruce deftly plucked the cup out of his hand. Tony made an attempt to grab it back, but there was some kind of a short circuit between his brain and his arm, so he just kind of ineffectually flapped instead. That pissed him off, so it was with quite a bit of aggression that he asked, "What're you _doing_, Banner?"

"You shouldn't be drinking. Skull fracture? Brain injury? Is any of this ringing a bell?"

Oh yeah. There _had _been a reason he hadn't thought of this whole plan sooner. Part of it had been the 'responsible adult' thing, that was true. But he'd given up alcohol entirely three weeks ago, on account of the whole head trauma thing. But he'd be damned if he'd back out of this now. "It's fine. My brain's all better. It's been like, forever since that whole...crushed parietal bone thing."

"It's been three weeks. Skull fractures can take up to _a year_ to heal, and yours was really bad. You nearly died. You've only been out of the hospital for a week. I thought you understood when the doctor was explaining about the brain damage? I don't think inflicting _deliberate _brain damage on top of the other stuff is going to help anything, Tony."

Tony sulked. Of course he understood about the brain damage. But damn it, he was making a bad fucking decision and wanted to do it in peace! "Can't you go mother hen someone else? I'm _busy_."

Bruce sighed heavily. He walked over towards one of the extra chairs in the room, removed the pile of papers and folders stacked haphazardly on it, and sat down. "Look. JARVIS said you were 'in distress' and 'becoming rapidly incapacitated,' and he thought someone should check on you. If he'd said you were just getting stupidly drunk and exacerbating your _brain damage_," the emphasis on the last two words was slight, but undeniable, "I would have just kept working, but now I'm here and I can't leave. In good conscience." He looked at the sippy cup he was still holding, and asked, "So, why are you drinking liquor from a three-year-old's cup and crying?"

In his current state, Tony couldn't tell if Bruce was just asking to be polite or if he actually cared. He thought about it for half a second before decided it didn't really matter (his brain-to-mouth filter had been completely shut down at this point) and he blurted out, "Pepper left me."

The look Bruce was giving him said "no shit," more clearly than if the physicist had actually spoken the words. But Bruce was a little more tactful than his facial expressions were, so he delicately said, "Um...she did."

It wasn't a question, and Tony found that infuriating. "What the fuck's that supposed to mean?"

If possible, Bruce looked more awkward, rubbing his hands together nervously. "It's just...uh. That was over three months ago. I thought? So...?"

_Well_, Tony thought, _It's good that _someone _was keeping track_. "Has it been _that _long?"

"Yeah. Well, I thought so, anyway. That's when she stopped coming around for dinner, stopped spending the night..." Bruce trailed off, becoming concerned at the rapt, fixated way that Tony was hanging on to his every word. "Are you okay?"

Tony shook his head, then quickly clenched his eyes shut. "Ugh...no."

Bruce rose and made his way to the mini-fridge in the corner of the lab. He returned with a bottle of water. "Here."

Tony took it, fumbled with it, and dropped it. Bruce sighed and picked it up, wrestling against his desire to either start performing neuro checks or call an ambulance. Instead, he twisted the cap off the bottle and offered it again. "Let's try that again."

This time Tony was successful. When he'd drained half the bottle and set it aside, Bruce asked, "If Pepper left you three months ago...um. Why now?"

After a lengthy silence, Tony declared with solemn grandiosity, "I'm an idiot."

Bruce couldn't help chuckling. "No arguments here—"

"I didn't notice she was gone until today."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, searching Tony's face for some sign that he was joking. There was none. "You're serious?"

"Yup. Didn't even fucking notice. I was too busy saving the world and shit, except it wasn't even that because I was mostly fucking that up. I guess I was too busy fucking up and I didn't even take the time to notice all the different things I was fucking up, and it turns out the thing I had going with Pepper was one of them. I thought we were still okay..."

Putting that speech through a sieve to filter out all the profanity and slurring took a moment, but when he'd gotten the gist of it, Bruce shook his head. "You really didn't notice that she'd left you."

Tony thought that Bruce's disbelief was a little hard to deal with. "Fucking right, Banner, I'm a moron. I got that, thanks."

Bruce looked legitimately surprised that Tony had jumped to that conclusion. "That's not what I said. I just...I know you've been busy, but...it's not unlike you to be a little...clueless." He shrugged helplessly, "Did you try calling her?"

Interestingly, Tony hadn't. Not for six weeks, anyway. But he insisted adamantly, "I don't think that's going to do a lot of good."

"You can't know that until you try it."

Tony scoffed, "Yeah. Bruce, I saw the damn video footage of her leaving to go on a date with that guy from...NASA or the Air Force or whatever tonight. This relationship is _over_. Has been for three goddamn months now, apparently." It was an unequivocal, indisputable fact.

Instead of agreeing with him, though, Bruce just smiled, albeit a little sadly. "I think you'd be surprised by the kind of things that relationships can survive. Women can be...remarkably forgiving."

He seemed wistful, and Tony arduously sifted through what he'd mentally stored from Bruce's file to figure out _why_. Oh, that was right, there _had _been a woman. Betty. But she was gone, now, because...why?

"But sometimes you need to forgive yourself first," Bruce added, and the regret in his voice was unmistakable, even through Tony's alcohol induced haze.

Tony still wasn't getting it, though, the gaps in his memory stopping him from seeing the whole picture. "What do you mean?"

Bruce sighed. "Betty. She was ready to try and work things out between us, even after...well. But I didn't think it could happen. Or that it should." He shook his head. "Stupid, probably, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

Ah. So what Bruce was saying was...that _h__e_ hadn't been willing to try, and now he was alone. _Frankly_, Tony thought, _that sucks_. _A lot._

"That sucks," Tony opined, lifting his head from where he'd been resting his chin on his chest.

Bruce chuckled, though it lacked any humor. "Yeah."

Tony's eyes drifted across the room. The blurry, bright sensory input was too much to deal with, though, so he closed them instead. "You know..."

He trailed off and was silent for so long that Bruce reached out to take his pulse and check to make sure he was breathing. This roused Tony, who remembered what he'd been about to say. "You know, I don't know if you're right. That she'll forgive me. But I can't know 'til I try. I'm an asshole, but she might be okay with that. Hell, it's not like it's exactly news. I should call her."

Bruce nodded, wondering what the world had come to, that _he_ was giving _Tony Stark _advice on women. "That's all I'm saying. I think." Well, it seemed like Tony had gotten the gist of the message, anyway. "So, how about you stop with the alcohol and go to bed before you kill yourself?"

But Tony wasn't listening. "JARVIS! Call Pepper."

"Sir, is that really advisable—"

"_N__o_, JARVIS," Bruce stepped in, alarmed. "Tony is going to go to bed. Right?"

Sulking again, Tony said, "I wanna call Pepper..."

"In the morning. Come on."

Tony lurched to his feet, and nearly fell over before Bruce could catch and steady him. Together, they stumbled out of the lab and to the elevator.

In Tony's penthouse, Bruce gently maneuvered the billionaire onto one of the couches. He flopped bonelessly onto the cushions, seemingly already asleep. Or passed out. Probably passed out.

Bruce turned to leave, but then he considered the trifecta of alcohol, skull fracture, and brain damage, and settled onto a nearby chair instead with a heavy sigh. He was fairly certain that this was not what he'd signed up for when he'd become a part of the Avengers Initiative.

When Tony woke nine hours later, Bruce was gone, replaced with a bottle of water and a pair of what looked like extra strength Excedrin. And a note, which read:

_Congrats, you didn't die. Maybe reconsider next time you decide to binge drink with a skull fracture. I'm billing you for the eight hours I watched you sleep that I could have been using to do science instead. Don't forget to call Pepper. Moron._  
_-BB _

Tony sat up, wincing as the movement jarred his hangover. He took the pills, read the note, and felt something akin to mortification when what was left of the memories from the previous night washed over him.

But then he smirked, because he was Tony Stark, and Tony Stark did not _do _'embarrassed.' He'd pay Bruce for his eight hours, sure. But first, he had to get his girlfriend back. Maybe Bruce was right and Pepper would be able to forgive him for what he'd done. Tony knew that he wanted her, needed her, and maybe that would be enough to convince her to give him a second chance.

And he _would _convince her, no matter what it took.

Because some things are too good to lose, even if you're too oblivious to notice it until it's gone.

* * *

Please review. They're the only light in my life, et cetera, et cetera.

Oh! It might be worth noting that this has spawned a companion story, which should be showing up sometime in the next week.


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